Through the Crack of Time
by highland laurel
Summary: A lighthearted look at Mingo's experiences in middle America of 1972.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The June afternoon was growing more threatening as the minutes passed. Charcoal grey storm clouds swirled and eddied above the two trotting men. Anxiously their eyes scanned the Kentucky hillsides for a cave, any cave.

Suddenly Daniel put out his hand and halted Mingo's rapid forward motion. "There! In that hillside. See it? Just what we're lookin' for."

Mingo nodded and together the two men trotted to the small entrance. Several feet from the opening the Kentucky vegetation seemed to halt. Though Mingo noticed the unusual lack of growing plants, he nevertheless gratefully entered the dry cave. Both men hurriedly dropped their rifles and packs, then scurried into the surrounding forest to gather as much firewood as possible before the storm broke.

Above them the heavy clouds growled in impatience. A blast of cold wind rushed from the storm's leading edge. Mingo dashed back into the cave just ahead of Daniel. He dashed back out and scooped a pot full of water from the tiny pond only yards from the entrance. Seconds later the first sprinkles of rain struck the hillside. Mingled with the cold rain were pea-sized hailstones. Mingo sprang back into the dry cave. He exchanged a look of relief with Daniel, then bent to start the fire and make a pot of welcome hot coffee.

An hour later Mingo stood and stretched. "This cave seems to go some distance into the hillside. I'm going to make certain that nothing malicious is sharing our shelter, Daniel."

"Good idea. I'd hate to wake up in the arms of a bear!" Daniel chuckled. "Though that would make a right good tale for the younguns." Daniel bent to the little fire and carefully moved the pot of coffee from the blaze. He placed his filled camp pot into the blaze and dropped in a dozen strips of jerky to soften.

Mingo grinned at his friend, bent, and gathered his rifle and shot pouch. He grasped the largest piece of firewood and laid it several seconds in the fire until it caught. Holding it aloft in his left hand, Mingo carefully balanced his rifle against his right side. He walked silently into the dark recesses of the cave.

Five minutes later he noticed a floor to ceiling slit in the cave wall. Bright light appeared to be streaming from this slit. Cautiously but curiously Mingo advanced toward the light. Seconds later he was standing totally amazed, staring at the crack in the cave wall. Not only was light coming through the slit but he could see through it into a park-like forested area. The bright green grass and large shade trees basked in the bright light.

"How can this be?" he questioned himself. Behind him he could hear the summer storm continuing to pour rain upon Kentucky. Yet before him was a bright, sunny meadow. Drawn forward by an unseen force, Mingo haltingly put his hand into the crack. He could feel the warm sunlight on his fingers. Shaking his head in puzzlement, he took another step forward and was startled to find that the crack allowed his entire body to slip through.

Time seemed to stand still as a curious sensation pulsed through his tall athletic frame. He shook his head to clear his mind and blinked in the bright sunlight. The warm summer air enclosed his chilled body soothingly. With a slight smile he slowly turned to look around. Nothing was visible except the many large shade trees and the bright green grass.

Gradually he became aware of the sounds of animals. The heavy odor of animal dung hung in the humid air. Frowning, Mingo followed his nose. He walked over a small hillock and came face to face with something he'd never seen before. Startled, he leaped backward. Then he cautiously, carefully placed one booted foot on the flat, silvery rock-like surface flowing like a river through the grass. It supported him perfectly. As he slowly walked across the surface he heard a loud, childish voice.

"Mama, look at him! I never saw a man like him before."

"Hush Devin, it's not nice to talk about people. And don't point!"

"But Mama…."

A deeper voice entered the conversation. Mingo's fine hearing caught most of the words.

"Ashley, he** is** dressed strangely. He's even got feathers sticking up from the back of his head. I don't blame Devin for pointing. He looks familiar, though. I wish I could remember…."

"He looks like one of the Village People. That's what he reminds you of."

"Of course! That's it. I remember reading in the Star that the Village People were planning a tour. I wish I could remember if they were going to be here in Kansas City."

"They must be! He's one of them. There must be some kind of promotion here at the zoo. We're lucky we planned to come today!" The woman with the unusual name seemed to be excited. There was a hurried whispered conversation which Mingo couldn't hear. He continued to walk along the silvery path, wondering whose village those touring people came from. He hoped they weren't Shawnee. As he pondered the question he heard rapid footsteps behind him. Politely he stepped to the side to allow them to pass.

Suddenly the pounding footsteps stopped. Mingo could hear the breathless giggle behind him. He turned with his most courtly smile and came face to face with a dark-haired woman and a blonde man. Clutched at her side the woman held a child about Israel's age. This boy was staring up at him with an open-mouthed gaze. Mingo watched, fascinated, as a fly buzzed into the child's open mouth, then out again.

"Good morning," Mingo said in his usual friendly manner.

The woman giggled again. She nudged the man at her side. "Give it to him, Travis," she said softly.

Travis stepped forward and dug a gum wrapper from his khaki pocket. He held the wrapper out to Mingo. Puzzled but a gentleman always, Mingo took the scrap of paper.

"Thank you," he murmured politely. Though totally perplexed at the unusual gift, Mingo decided that the offering from this Village People emissary was a definite sign of friendship. Though taken off guard, he quickly recovered and stripped the bracelet from his left wrist. He held the beautiful piece out to the blonde man. The woman beside him beamed with joy and snatched the bracelet from her husband's hand.

Mingo turned and continued across the hard surface toward the gate he could see in the distance. As he walked he put the gum wrapper into his shot pouch.

"Hey!" The man's voice behind him sounded aggravated, disappointed. Mingo stopped walking and looked over his shoulder at the man called Travis. It was then that he noticed the highly unusual clothing worn by the Village People before him.

A flush began to creep over the tall Cherokee's face as he beheld the vast amount of pale skin exposed on the woman called Ashley. She wore a sleeveless vest rather like his own. But her vest was very short, exposing most of her stomach and lower back. The deep neckline exposed a great deal of cleavage. As she swatted at the fly buzzing around her head Mingo noticed that the hair under her arm was totally gone.

Her legs were bare of any covering until midway up her smooth round thighs. A quick glance showed him that her legs were also devoid of hair. She was nearly barefoot. A thin sole was held in place by one thong between her toes. It was her only protection from the hard grey surface beneath his feet. Her toenails and fingernails were stained with a vivid, bright pink.

Travis was clad much the same. From both ears extended a thin black cord that seemed to be connected to something hidden in a pocket over his heart. Mingo suddenly became aware of what sounded like music emanating from the tiny black box inside the man's pocket. Though nothing at all like any music he knew, he decided that music it must be. The man was nodding his head to the pulsing beat. Perhaps these Village People were some kind of Shawnee after all.

Seconds passed as Mingo stared at the strange contraption in the man's pocket. Before him Travis shifted from one foot to the other. "I gave you the paper to sign," Travis complained. "I wasn't throwing it away. You're not one of those crazy tree-huggers are you?"

Mingo's sharp mind processed the words, but they did not fit with any concept he knew. Which group of people hugged trees? Perhaps the Village People were an offshoot of the ancient Druids of Britain. After all, they were speaking English. That explanation much better fit the circumstances than his first suspicion that they were Shawnee.

"C'mon, sign the paper will ya? Devin wants to go see the elephants and it's hot standing here in the sun." Travis' whiny voice brought Mingo out of his reverie. His dark eyebrows rose in puzzlement.

"Sign the paper that you gave me? With what? I don't carry a pen with me. Do you?"

Travis turned to Ashley and gestured at the pouch she wore around her waist. "You've got something to write with don't you?" Then he murmured to his distracted wife. "You'd think a celebrity would carry a pen, wouldn't you?"

Ashley opened the pouch with a strange metal tab which tracked along a metal strip through the leather. Mingo watched with fascination. He instantly saw that this way of closing leather pouches was superior to his own. Quickly he tried to imprint the design into his brain in case he could not acquire one.

A writing instrument was thrust toward him. He took it and stared at the blunt point. Then, cooperatively, he pressed the end of the instrument to the gum wrapper he'd retrieved from his pouch. No marks appeared on the paper.

With a grunt of impatience, Travis leaned over and grabbed the pen from Mingo's hand. "You know, you're carrying this Indian bit too far fella. Even **they** know how to use a pen!"

Mingo watched as Travis pressed a button on the end of the pen and a slim metal piece protruded from the blunt end. Handing the pen back to Mingo, Travis waved his hand at the gum wrapper. "Now sign it, will ya? Jeez!"

Feeling rather chagrined, Mingo complied. He handed the pen back to Ashley and the paper to Travis. Then he turned and walked rapidly toward the shady gate only yards away. Behind him he heard Travis' complaint drift on the steamy air.

"Cripes, Ashley, he signed it 'Mingo'. Who the hell is Mingo?"

"Maybe he's only somebody the company hired to promote the tour. I guess they don't want the real guys out in public. Probably too dangerous for them. He can't sign it Felipe Rose or some lawyer'd get him. You know how sharky they are."

Thirty yards away Mingo pondered the exchange between the couple behind him. He was stopped before strange iron gates that seemed to rotate on a vertical axle. Above the gates was a large sign: Swope Park Zoo.

Closely he watched as two elderly people and three children pushed their way through the device. When it was his turn Mingo forcefully pushed against the bars and their rotation allowed him to pass. Intrigued, he spent several minutes manipulating the machine. Travis, Ashley and Devin passed through, all three giving him disgusted looks. Pointedly Travis flung the gum wrapper at Mingo's booted feet. It fluttered in the gentle breeze.

He stooped and picked it up, again putting it in his shot pouch. Travis glanced behind himself and saw Mingo's action. He shook his head disgustedly and muttered, "I knew it! A tree-hugger!"

Mingo followed the family toward a half-dozen little huts perched side by side before him. From a dozen feet away he could see people in the little huts, totally enclosed by large panes of glass. When he got close he noticed that the glass was of a particularly high quality. There were no variations of thickness, no cloudy flaws. He carefully touched one of the panels. It was smoother than any glass he'd ever seen.

"Hey! Don't smear the glass." An angry voice from inside the booth caused Mingo to drop his hand with a guilty expression on his face. He stepped to the little hole in the glass and faced an elderly man. The man wore the largest pair of eyeglasses that Mingo had ever seen. He stared at the bright red frames.

"Give me your five bucks and go on, fella. There's a line startin' to form behind you."

The man held out his hand near the slit at the bottom of the glass. Mingo hastily reached behind his belt and pulled out a shilling. With a slight smile of friendliness he handed it to the man behind the glass.

"What's this? Are you tryin' to pawn off some bit of Canadian coin young man? It won't work! Slap me with a Lincoln or move aside."

Behind Mingo a harried looking woman with two children looked at the shilling in Mingo's hand. She quickly stepped forward with a twenty-dollar bill in her hands. "Here, this is for me, the two kids and him."

She pushed Mingo forward away from the booth. Standing in the deep shade of the Osage orange, she faced Mingo and reached for the coin. "That's an English shilling, isn't it?" she questioned. "My ex-husband, the prick, had some old coins in the basement. Can I see this?"

Mingo wordlessly placed the shilling in her outstretched hand. She released a low whistle. "Wow, 1767. You were going to use this to get into the zoo?" She looked at Mingo carefully and saw for the first time his unusual dress and accoutrements. A suspicious look drew down over her features. She backed away from Mingo, pushing her two children behind her. Almost running, she quickly pushed her children into the park and turned toward the African exhibit.

Mingo sighed. Since stepping through the slit in the cave wall he'd lost his bracelet and a shilling. He had gained a slip of metallic paper. This strange society seemed to be taking more than they were giving. If he wasn't careful he'd soon be missing more than he cared to part with. Firmly grasping his rifle, settling his shot pouch securely on his shoulder, Mingo gracefully walked toward the bears.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mingo stood before the exhibit. The metal sign proclaimed "American Black Bear". Behind the bars, across the deep moat, two sleepy bears rolled playfully, exposing their flabby stomachs to the appreciative people draped over the waist-high bars. Several of the people raised devices to their eyes and snapped levers. A clicking sound followed. Mingo watched perplexed. He approached a young man with a small child and asked about the device.

"It's a camera. Haven't you ever seen one like this?"

Mingo shook his head. His black braids flipped against his shoulders. The little girl beside him grinned and shook her own head, flipping her own braids against her thin shoulders. Her father spent several minutes showing Mingo his new expensive Canon.

"Where are you from, anyway? Somewhere in India?"

"No," Mingo chuckled. "I'm from Kentucky."

"Kentucky? The United States' Kentucky?"

"Yes, near Boonesborough."

The young father's face relaxed. "Oh, you're a re-enactor. Are you here with a group from the fort?"

"No. Everyone I know is still there in Boonesborough where I left them."

"Not in Boonesborough! Osage. Are they having some demonstration out there this week?"

"Not that I am aware of. I've never been to Osage. What is it?

"It's a fort. Built just after the Lewis and Clark Expedition. You really aren't from around here, are you?"

Mingo smiled and shook his head. The little girl mimicked him perfectly. Her father gave one more glance at Mingo's strange appearance, grasped his daughter's hand and pulled her quickly away. Before Mingo could think more about the exchange another child pushed around him to lean over and look at the bears. In his hand he carried a large wad of bright pink wrapped around a paper stick.

The boy waved the pink confection as he gestured at the bears. The sticky sugar came in contact with Mingo's cheek, depositing a palm-sized glaze of sweetness. With aggravation the tall man tried to brush away the stickiness. He hated to be sticky! His hand smeared the sugar into his long black braid. Sighing, he brushed his hand against his leather vest.

Two more boys ran to his other side and began to spit over the iron bars. Mingo watched disapprovingly as all three boys bent and grasped pieces of gravel from the edge of the pavement. They flung the rocks at the two lounging bears.

"Stop that!" Mingo's voice was rough and brooked no disobedience. The three boys stared at his tall frame, his unusual clothing, his rifle. Then they turned as one and ran to the side of a frazzled woman seated on a bench under a shade tree. They pointed at Mingo, obviously agitated. Frowning, her eyes narrowed and her jaw set, the frowsy woman shuffled rapidly to face Mingo.

"You can't talk to my boys like that! They weren't hurtin' anything. Who do you think you are? You'd better watch yourself or I'll report you to a zookeeper. Keepin' kids from enjoyin' their own zoo!" The words poured from her bright orange lips. Mingo endured the barrage in silence. When she finished he added the postscript.

"Your 'boys' are poorly behaved brutes, Madam. I simply corrected their behavior, something that you seem unwilling or incapable of doing."

With those words Mingo spun on his heel and followed the pavement past the drowsy bears toward the cat exhibit. Behind him the slovenly woman and her three bratty sons went in search of a zookeeper.

Mingo sauntered past the Bengal tigers and African lions. All the animals lay panting in the Missouri heat. The sign before the mountain lion explained that it was all but extinct in every state east of the Mississippi River. Mingo was taken aback by the simple declaration. The sign gave him a glimpse into the future of his friends and relatives. The wanton greed and thoughtless destruction he himself had witnessed during his lifetime apparently ran rampant over the land.

Sadly he walked to sit on the bench before the drooping panther. The animal's yellow eyes bored into his own, its boredom evident in every line of its well-fed body. A depression began to settle over Mingo's heart. He closed his eyes and drifted in the dappled shade.

His mind began to make sense of his situation. Though totally fantastic and impossible, he realized that somehow he had come forward in time. The problem as he saw it was how to return to his own time and place. His mind attacked the problem as the summer heat intensified. Beads of sweat formed in his heavy black hair, across his upper lip and on his forehead. Trickles of perspiration ran down through the stickiness on the side of his face.

Rapid footsteps roused him. He brushed the sweat from his forehead and opened his eyes. Quickly approaching was a thin man dressed entirely in brown. Behind him trailed the frowsy woman and her three misbehaving children. Both she and the boys wore expressions of gleeful malice. The security officer stopped before Mingo, breathing heavily.

"This woman says that you manhandled her children. We don't tolerate that here at the zoo."

Mingo rose to his full height. He towered over the security officer, the woman and the children. "I don't think that you tolerate actions that harm your animals either. Do you?

I simply told the three boys to stop throwing rocks at the bears."

Mingo's dignified answer took all the indignation from the man's face. He searched Mingo's eyes for several seconds, then turned to the boys. "We don't tolerate tormenting the animals, boys. Do you understand me?"

The woman pushed forward. "You believin' him over me? Look how he's dressed! He's a nut case if I ever saw one. Let loose to molest honest citizens. If this is the way this zoo is run then me and the boys won't ever come here again!"

She spun around, slid on the loose gravel and fell heavily. The three boys laughed and ran. She struggled to rise, slipping on the gravel and gouging several wounds in her bare legs and hands. The park officer and Mingo bent to help her up but she spit a rapid stream of foul words at them both. The two men stepped back and allowed her to rise on her own. She hobbled after her three disappearing sons.

The officer turned to Mingo. "I'm sorry. We seem to be getting more and more people like them every year. I don't know what this society is coming to."

Shaking his head the park employee strode off toward the sea lions. With a final sad glance at the drooping cat Mingo followed. A large crowd of people were standing all around the sea lion pool. The portholes in the tank allowed people to view the lithe animals underwater. Many children stood fascinated before the portholes. Mingo climbed the incline and stood watching the animals split the water with their sleek bodies. Several were sunning themselves on large rocks. They barked and splashed playfully.

After watching the sea lions for several minutes, remembering the seals he'd seen in the British Isles, Mingo followed the curving sidewalk toward a smaller pool. Several more children stood watching the river otters slide down their smooth slanted rocks into the water. The little animals squeaked and chattered as they played together,

Mingo thought of the many times he'd done as he was doing now, watching river otters on the banks of the Kentucky. Their muddy slides could be found all along the watercourse. Lost in memory, he didn't notice the small girl as she slipped beside him.

"I like to watch the otters best. They're my favorite." Her soft light voice, filled with trust, drifted up to the tall man's ears. Mingo looked down and met the bright beams from her honey brown eyes. He smiled tenderly. With complete ease the little girl continued to talk to the Cherokee at her side.

"I think they are the most fun of all the animals. The cats make me sad. They look so unhappy." Mingo nodded his agreement. The child held out the bright blue confection in her hand. "Would you like some cotton candy? Mommy always gets me some. Blue is my favorite."

She giggled and Mingo saw the blue stain on her lips and tongue. But his courteous nature as well as his curiosity took hold and he tore a small bit of blue from the stick, nodding his thanks. The spun sugar stuck to his wide lips and melted instantly on his tongue. The slight blue- berry taste was pleasant. He smiled and licked his fingers, causing them to become more sticky.

Quickly he looked around for a source of water. Some distance away he spied what appeared to be a small spring coming out of a wall. He strode rapidly to the metal spigot. For seconds he stood puzzled, then turned the knob projecting from the unit. A stream of tepid water arced from the spigot. Wetting first one hand, then the other, he was finally able to rid his fingers and face of the sticky sugar.

Always fastidious, Mingo hated sticky fingers. Unconsciously he brushed his hands against his blue trousers to dry them. It was then that he saw the little boy curiously touch his long rifle. He reached for the weapon and snatched it from the child's hand. The boy jumped back just as his father shouted his name. "Ricky! Don't touch that!"

A man with a plaid shirt and short trousers rushed toward the child. Two little girls ran after their father. Mingo stood holding the rifle above the child's head. Several nearby parents and children looked in their direction. Within seconds whispers and murmurs surrounded the tall Cherokee like the whir of locusts. Through the crowd strode the same park official Mingo had met a short time before.

"Look here, mister, you'd better come with me. You seem to be causing quite a stir today. Let's go."

The officer gestured with his hand. Mingo recognized the man's authority and quietly did as he was ordered. The two men walked some distance to a small brick building. When the officer opened the door Mingo felt a blast of cool air. Surprised, he stood in the open doorway.

"Get in there. You're letting the air conditioning out." The officer pushed Mingo from the back and he stumbled forward. The floor was slick with some kind of shiny floor covering. Mingo's leather soles couldn't gain purchase and he slipped. Fortunately a heavy wooden chair was nearby. He quickly grabbed onto the back and righted himself.

He sat before the whirring air conditioner. The cool breeze lifted the heavy black hair that hung down his back. Mingo gratefully leaned into the full flow of coolness.

The officer walked behind a metal desk and sat down facing Mingo. "Mister, we need to have a chat. Within the last hour you've had two run-ins with kids. I realize this is a public zoo, you paid to get in here and you have a right to be here same as everyone else. But I want you to stay away from the kids. Hear me?"

"One more complaint and I will escort you from this park. Do you understand?"

"May I defend myself?" Mingo asked politely.

The other man looked annoyed but nodded silently. Mingo explained once again about the rock-throwing boys. Then he explained about the little boy touching his rifle.

The officer glanced at the Kentucky rifle balanced across Mingo's knees. Suddenly his light eyes widened.

"You mean that thing is real?"

Mingo nodded, then quickly reassured the man before him. "It is loaded but not primed. It can't be fired."

"I thought it was part of your costume. Aren't you part of some publicity stunt for the Village People? I figured the cop or sailor would show up next."

At mention of the Village People Mingo eagerly raised his eyes. "Who are these Village People? You are the second person I've heard mention them today. "

" 'Who are the Village People?' Where are you from---Mars?"

"I'm from Kentucky. But I don't see what that has to do with my question. Who are the Village People?"

"They're a singing group! They put on quite a performance I hear. I can't believe you've never heard of them. They're coming here to Kansas City next week. At the Kemper Auditorium."

"A group of singers? That's all?"

The zoo employee looked at Mingo for several seconds, measuring. "Excuse me a minute, will you?" The man rose and disappeared through another closed door. A moment later Mingo could hear a muffled conversation. He stood and looked through the window at the passing population. Pursing his lips, he puzzled over their immodest clothing and loud vulgar conversations. Women seemed to be as vulgar as the men. He shook his head.

He had been thirsty before eating the berry-flavored cotton candy. Now he was uncomfortably dry. Running his tongue around his mouth, he decided to go back to the spring and get a drink. Seconds later he was bent over the little stream of water, sipping. Then he dabbed the drops from his lips, stretched, and followed the arrows toward the aviary.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Mingo sat for a half-hour inside the aviary watching and listening to the many different birds. Slowly he walked around the enclosure, reading all the signs and trying to find as many different specimens as he could. He least enjoyed the raptor exhibit. The thought of such freedom-loving animals being forever caged tugged at his independent heart.

Head bowed, he walked through the two screened doors and back into the glaring summer sunlight. His sensitive nose caught the distinctive odor of roasting meat. He hadn't eaten since last evening. His stomach was uncomfortably empty. Striding purposefully forward Mingo was soon before an open-air grill. Bags of chips swung in the summer breeze. In a glass case hot dogs and sausages rotated, roasting. A delicious fragrance surrounded the immediate area.

Mingo looked at the various selections, his mouth watering. He swallowed and addressed the perky little park employee behind the counter. "Excuse me, miss. I'd like two of these sausages, please."

The little red-haired miss smiled and reached to do his bidding. She handed the two bun-wrapped sausages over to him with the proclamation, "That will be two-fifty, sir."

"Two-fifty what?" Mingo asked, perplexed.

"Two dollars and fifty cents. What did you think? There's no such thing as a free lunch, mister." The young woman narrowed her eyes at her unusual customer. She watched him nervously. She had made a huge blunder in giving him the sausages without first having the money. Her boss would probably dismiss her for the mistake if the man stiffed her.

"Now, mister. Don't make me call security." She tried to sound tough but her voice quivered. Mingo heard the quiver and dug quickly behind his belt. Remembering his trouble at the gate hours before, he hopefully handed the little red-head a shiny shilling.

Just at that moment the director of food services stepped behind the girl. He glanced down at the coin in her hand, then stared at the unusual man standing quietly before the counter. The teen didn't know her boss was there and proceeded to question Mingo before her.

"What's this? I can't take this! It isn't American. Come on, mister. Give me the money you owe or give me back the sausages." Her voice rose on the hot summer air. Behind her shoulder her boss cleared his throat. She jumped in surprise, blushed and ducked her head.

"It's okay, Debbie. It's all part of the act, right? You re-enactors sure go all out to be authentic. A shilling from 1756. Great! Give it back to him."

"But, but….the sausages," Debbie muttered.

"Let it go. I'll bill the fort." The manager waved Mingo away, smiling. Mingo graciously accepted his shilling, thanked the manager and went to sit on a nearby bench in the shade.

All around him flowed the crowd of zoo patrons. Some stared at him, some pointed, most merely ignored him. The children gazed at him with interest in their eyes. Several smiled and waved. He returned the gestures, warmly.

Many of the children were carrying various colored bladders filled with air. They floated lazily in the slight summer breeze. Mingo pondered their purpose, finally deciding that they had none. They were simply a colorful childish diversion.

Thirsty again, Mingo sauntered to a nearby spigot and drank his fill of the warm water. He noticed a large building nearby that seemed to be a kind of trader's store. Curiously he wandered in, the blast of cool air welcome on his sweaty body.

Arranged all around the walls were large cups, figurines, plates, wooden whistles, toys and items of clothing. Carefully Mingo lifted a little figure of a polar bear. Across its white chest was the logo, 'Swope Park Zoo'. On the bottom was stamped the price, $1.50, and the announcement 'Made in China'. He lifted a dozen items, all of which were stamped with the same message.

He spent more than an hour inside the cool building searching in vain for an item made anywhere but China, Japan, Taiwan or Singapore. Finally his search brought him to a small display of fanny packs in a variety of colors, all stamped with the zoo logo. Into Mingo's mind flashed the morning meeting with Travis and Ashley. The little bags before him were very like Ashley's bag that had so caught his attention.

Leaning his rifle against the wall, Mingo reached for a bright sky blue bag and took the metal tab in his fingers. He tugged gently and the zipper moved part way along its track. Encouraged by his success, Mingo slid the zipper back and forth for several minutes, investigating.

One of the salesmen walked to his side. "I've been watching you, mister. You've been in here for an hour. Are you some kind of 'secret shopper'?"

Mingo's puzzled eyes looked long into the blue eyes of the young man before him. He shook his head slightly. "There's nothing secret about me, son. I'm simply investigating your merchandise."

"Would you like to buy this fanny pack?" The teen gestured at the bright blue bag in Mingo's hand.

"How much is it?" Mingo asked.

Impatiently the youth tugged the bag from Mingo's hand and turned the price tag into the light. "There. See? It's $4.99."

Once again Mingo slipped his hand behind his belt. The shilling shone in his brown hand. He offered it to the young salesman, who reacted exactly as the previous two zoo employees had done. Just at that moment the food service manager entered the souvenir shop. He waved to Mingo.

"Did you give him that same shilling? It's a great gag. Look, Ryan, he's a re-enactor from Fort Osage. I'm going to bill the fort for his food. Just give him the bag and I'll add it on to the bill."

"Here," the manager said as he took the bag from Ryan's hand. "Take it. Your daughter will love it. I'm going out to the fort with my grandkids tomorrow. I'll see you there."

Mingo smiled and nodded. He left the cool building, walked to the nearest bench, and sat to further investigate his purchase. The light blue vinyl was soft, the fabric imprinted with a family of dolphins. The plastic clasp was totally unfamiliar and Mingo spent several minutes understanding how to manipulate it. Finally he clasped it around the thong of his shot pouch where it hung in all its splendor.

The afternoon sun was slanting through the trees when Mingo exited the zoo back through the rotating bars. He walked several minutes along the sidewalk back toward the spot where he'd arrived that morning. Carefully he searched the side of the little hill. But there was no trace of the crack he'd come through. Sighing, he decided to make himself as ready for the night as he could.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It took a very long time to gather enough firewood. The entire park seemed to be swept clean. At last Mingo felt he'd found enough to last the night. Carefully he constructed a small fire ring. Then, reaching into his shot pouch he retrieved his blow gun and went in search of the squirrels he was certain inhabited the large trees.

A short hour later he was back at his campsite with two large fox squirrels. Within a quarter hour he had them cleaned and spitted. He sat leaned back against a large elm, watching the blazing sun retreat farther westward. Seconds later he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps rapidly approaching. He turned his head and saw a uniformed man striding toward his camp.

"Hey, you can't do that here. Can't you read?" The officer's voice was loud, impatient.

"Excuse me? Can't I read what?" Mingo's puzzlement was obvious.

"That sign right over there! See? 'Fire in designated area only.' You can't start a fire just anywhere!"

Mingo peered in the direction the officer pointed. Sure enough, a large sign proclaimed the limitations on campfires. Embarrassed, Mingo quickly kicked his fire apart. The officer's eyes followed the motion and saw the roasting squirrels. His eyes grew wide in disbelief.

"Where'd you get the squirrels? You didn't shoot the park squirrels, did you?"

"No, officer." Mingo replied honestly.

The officer's hazel eyes stared at Mingo. He saw the unusual clothing, the feathers, the beads. Several possibilities swirled through the man's mind. One, this guy was looney. Two, this guy was homeless. Three, this guy was a homeless looney. Officer Brady took two steps back, thinking.

Just then a little boy ran up to Mingo's side. A young man followed briskly. The child reached out inquisitive fingers to the hatchet resting at the Cherokee's side. "Excuse me, mister. But my boy saw you from over there," the young man pointed to a picnic table a hundred yards away. "He's fascinated by Indians. He watches all the movies. Can he see your hatchet?"

Mingo held his hatchet firmly and allowed the child to touch the blade. His little fingers gently caressed the feathers tied to the handle. Then, boldly, the boy touched Mingo's arm band. The officer and father stood silently watching the interaction between the child and the tall stranger. Mingo allowed the boy to touch anything he wanted, softly explaining as the child did so.

Cicadas began their distinctive hum as the light faded. The young father leaned over and took his son's small hand. "Come on, Justin. That's enough. Thank the man for showing you everything."

Justin did as his father bade him. Mingo smiled and waved. Justin's father leaned forward, extending his hand. "Thanks, mister. You're a great re-enactor. We watched you for a long time as we finished our picnic. You're really good with that blow gun. If you'll tell me your name I'll write the fort and let them know how much we appreciated your demonstration."

"Mingo," the Cherokee replied.

The young man's eyebrows rose. Then he nodded. "Oh, I understand. That's your 'Indian' name. I'll be sure to tell them out at the fort. Good-night."

Justin waved once more. Mingo returned the gesture then turned his attention to the officer still standing before him. Officer Brady was smiling now. With a wave of his hand he dismissed Mingo's question.

"I never considered that you'd be a re-enactor. I missed this week's briefing so I didn't know about you. I'm sorry that I bothered you. Have a good supper, Mingo. Are you planning on staying the night? If you are, I'd better radio the night officer."

"I think I will be here until at least tomorrow morning," Mingo replied. In his mind he had decided that the best time to try and get back to Kentucky was at the exact time he'd come through originally. The officer nodded, then waved his hand as he walked away. He tugged the radio from his belt. Mingo could hear some of the conversation before the officer slipped below the hill.

Shaking his head at the wonder of the device, Mingo reconstructed his fire, finished roasting his squirrels and lay back to watch the stars sprinkle the summer sky. As he lay quietly, he became aware of music floating through the still summer evening. Though unfamiliar, it was not unpleasant as the music Travis had been listening to in the morning. Curious, Mingo sat up and turned his head. The music was coming from a wooded area beyond the zoo. Rifle in hand, Mingo trotted toward the melody.

A half-hour later he stood before an enormous open area. Row after row of metal carriages spread before him. He spent several minutes investigating them, touching their rigid metal frames, peering in through the glass. Then he continued to follow the music and dialog. Apparently some kind of play was in progress.

Enormous bright lights beamed from the top of a castle-like structure. Metal gates and bars enclosed it on both sides. Large posters proclaimed: 'This week at Starlight: Ed Ames in Man of La Mancha.' Mingo slipped around to the side and peered through the bars. A large stage was bathed in white light. Performers strode before an elaborate set of what looked like medieval Spain. Suddenly he heard lines from Cervantes.

Quickly he scaled the nearest tall maple. From its branches he could see the entire stage. A tall athletic man, costumed as Don Quixote, tottered through a dance with Aldonza and his squire. Suddenly Mingo understood. This was a play about Don Quixote de la Mancha set to music. He settled comfortably in the tree and watched the performance.

The hours sped by as he was drawn into the story. When the dungeon staircase rumbled down for the last time and the two main characters climbed to their fate, Mingo slipped from the tree to the sound of thunderous applause. Humming to himself, he trotted back to his little camp near the zoo.

The summer stars winked as he stretched out on the cool damp grass. In only moments he was sound asleep, drifting through the impossible dream.

He awoke to the faint pearly gray of dawn. He spent several minutes gathering his equipment and making certain the little fire was dead. Then he slowly walked along the face of the small limestone outcropping at the edge of the park. Running his hand over the smooth cold rock, he searched for the crack in time.

As he walked, the rock began to grow warmer. Suddenly his hand slipped into the face. Seconds later he was standing inside the little dry cave. He heard Daniel's voice calling from behind him. Turning, he saw the flicker of firelight from the torch in Daniel's hand. Daniel's face looked worried.

"Mingo!" Dan shouted. "Where'd you come from? I've been lookin' for you for hours. I was afraid you'd fallen into a bottomless pit." Dan looked at his friend. He noticed the other man's missing bracelet and the addition of a small blue pouch attached to his shot pouch. Strange animals swam through a billowing sea on the pouch's top.

Mingo grinned. "In a way I did. Daniel, you won't believe me, but come back to the fire and I'll tell you. You wouldn't happen to have a pot of coffee and some jerky would you?"

Daniel touched his friend's arm to make sure he was really there. Mingo continued to grin broadly. Daniel narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He sat before the fire and readied himself for what he knew could be the tallest tale he'd ever heard. Mingo sat quietly drinking his coffee. Then, with a chuckle and a flash of deep dimples, Mingo began his fantastic story.


End file.
